"Neither, my lord," said John with great respect, but looking the young man fearlessly in the face. "You don't know Beau Brocade, and there are no safer hands than his. He knows every inch of the Moor and fears neither man nor devil."
Touched in spite of himself by the smith's earnestness, Philip's wrath abated somewhat; still he seemed dazed, not understanding, vaguely scenting danger, or treachery.
"But a highwayman!" he repeated mechanically.
"Aye! and a gentleman!" retorted John with quiet conviction. "A gentleman if ever there was one! Aye! and not the only one who has ta'en to the road these hard times," he added under his breath.
"But a thief, John! A man who might sell my letter, betray my whereabouts!..."
"A man, my lord, who would die in torture sooner than do that."
The smith's quiet and earnest conviction seemed to chase away the last vestige of Philip's wrath. Still he seemed unconvinced.
"A hero of romance, John, this highwayman of yours," he laughed bitterly.
Honest John scratched the back of his curly black head.
"Noa!" he said, somewhat puzzled. "I know nought about that or what's a ... a hero of romance. But I do know that Beau Brocade is a friend of the poor, and that our village lads won't lay their hands on him, even if they could. No! not though the Government have offered a hundred guineas as the price of his head."